


Light a Match (Watch it Burn)

by Dreua



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Galo knows more than he lets on, Lio just needs some reassuring, M/M, Meis as best friend of the year, Minor Gueira/Meis (Promare), My First Work in This Fandom, Self-Doubt, Self-Indulgent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, understanding one's emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreua/pseuds/Dreua
Summary: One month and ten days, one horrendously long month, and the only thing keeping Lio from leaving Galo's house is the notion that, maybe--just maybe-- the firefighter would finally kiss him, again.  Maybe, just maybe, he would finally take their relationship (or lack there of) to the next level.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	Light a Match (Watch it Burn)

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if this happens to be all over the place, I honestly planned on it being a lot shorter, but somehow managed to create a monster in the process. First time writing for Promare, please have mercy!

_. . ._ the desire to scream into the abyss is never ending _. . ._

_Release us. . . ._

_Don’t hold back . . ._

_Destroy . . . .!_

There’s a gnawing, shrill, hum crashing back and forth within his mind’s eye, echoing thoughts that are both his own and not—a pulling sensation that traps his heart in biting coils, forcing him to shudder. The familiar urge to burn, combust, rework his body until even his nerves sing out with heated rage takes hold deep within his chest, clawing upwards until its waiting to burst. The need to send the entire damn ship toppling to the ground, crashing into the city and whatever hell has happened to take over its streets, flickers barely within arm’s reach. And oh, the unrelenting voices that tear him apart from the inside out are never ending—words he can and can’t understand growing in intensity until all he manages to focus on is his own unsteady breathing drumming away, stilling.

It’s the silence, once it hits, that really gets to him. When even the tiniest of voices vanish, leaving his mind blank—alone yet oddly full.

He goes slack, head clouding despite trying his hardest to focus. To keep himself together until the pain subsides, until he can breathe without feeling as if his entire throat has reached temperatures beyond the likes of some he’s had the honor of feeling. And he’s felt quite a few since relinquishing his body to the Promare, but they’ve never hurt him, never wished ill upon him—but this, this _hurts_. This _burns._ The sheer magnitude of force, the unyielding power that his body— _their bodies_ —emits, all of the sorrow and energy coursing through him, despite better judgment, has him all but coughing, choking against a scream that threatens to tear his insides out, driving a rawness into his chest that settles against his heart.

. . . the ungodly irony of falling victim to the same callous attempts he’d hoped to put an end to.

He never dreamed of being used for such a thing (never imagined such a thing could even exist, honestly), not when he has an entire path laid out for him, not when he’s yet to see everything through till the end. His _family—a_ nd that’s what they are, family— never agreed to being thrust into the existence they’ve been forced to live. Never agreed to death. And that’s what will happen, he realizes, if that damn psychopath isn’t stopped. Everything they’ve worked so hard for will just . . . end. Lio Fotia will just . . . . cease to exist.

_You are not alone._

_Scream . . . ._

_Burn out . . .._

_This is not the end . . . ._

His thoughts are barely above a whisper when his head snaps back, heated rage building, spewing uncontrollable lava until his hands numb, fingers coiling into an off shade of grey. And ever so slowly he can feel his stomach lurch at the thought of, maybe just maybe, he won’t get out of this, alive. Galo is nowhere in sight, and he can’t very well fend off Kray, alone—he can hardly move against the weight of the thorns, can barely channel what little ounce of fight he has left in him, not that it would amount to much (Kray made sure of that from the start, really).

Like lambs to the slaughter, the entirety of the Burnish civilization. Like ants _. . ._

His friends—family—are suffering. He’s suffering, collapsing from the inside out into dulled shards that break apart the moment they touch air. He’s dying. Though, he’s yet to figure out which part frightens him the most.

_Wake up . . . ._

_Please . . . ._

_You have so much more to GIVE . . ._

He’s not sure at what point his mind goes blank, searing pain taking hold, pushing, pulling upon every ounce of his consciousness until his eyes bleed flames and he can longer hear the cries of thousands around him. Nor is he wholly conscious for when the machine snaps, crackling, bursting, caving under the weight of far too much power—too many lives breaking, bending, to that asshole’s deadly whim.

It’s oddly quiet when he falls, rolls, the overpowering surge of force having fizzled, popped, died mere seconds after collapsing the mainframe. His head lulls, body curling, tumbling until he hits concrete. Until his back smacks hard upon the ground, vision piercing white amidst swirling darkness. 

_You can’t die here . . ._

_You must wake up . . . ._

_. . . . need you . . . ._

And, if he truly thinks about it, he really could die like this. If he wanted to. If _. . . ._

“Lio! Oh shit, Lio!” _Stay with me, Lio . . . oh god, you have to stay with me, here. Lio . . ._

The thudding of heavy footsteps falls short if only for a weight to land upon Lio’s chest, pushing, pounding. He can vaguely make out the sound of Galo’s voice, frantic, straining, pleading to the heaven’s for some sign of recognition, some form of hope that the gnawing chill ghosting across his companion’s chest isn’t death coming to claim him. There are tears falling in torrents against his face, mingling between the softened greenish blonde hues of his bangs, sticking in a salted mess upon his cheeks, clinging to the ice that has all but formed upon his skin. 

Something tells him that he’ll be okay, however, as the sensation of muscular arms, calming, coaxing his body into a state of mild peace, circle his waist, drawing him close until he’s forced to gasp, breath escaping in garbled waves from between parched lips.

“ _Lio,_ you _have_ to _focus_.” And oh, Galo’s lips are undeniably warm, pliant, tender beyond anything that Lio has ever dreamed of. “ _Lio, please.”_

He’s never been kissed before, but he gets the vaguest sensation of being weightless, one that—if he were in any other situation—he would cling to with just as much force, if not more, in hopes of keeping the larger man against him. 

In hopes of keeping what little flame that’s slowly being sucked back into his body, alive.

One month and ten days, not that Lio is counting, since Galo rekindled every last ounce of life back into him, ultimately shoving the middle finger into Kray’s plans. One month and ten excruciatingly long days since Lio gathered his strength and began helping the ex-Burnish get back into some form of normalcy—whether it meant conducting meetings or overseeing plans to rebuild, to heal, he made it a point to be his people’s first line of contact. To still be their _leader,_ despite feeling like anything but.

Three weeks in, and it doesn’t come as a surprise that, much to his friend’s horror, he takes those days walking alongside the very man that brought him back from death itself.

“Would you kiss me?” Lio glances up from between pale green hues, eyes searching the expanse of his friend’s face, watching as Meis’s expression changes from one of peaceful ease to oddly put out in less than a second. If he weren’t sprawled on the man’s lap, surely he’d be tumbling with how quick the ex-general makes to stand, only to fall back against the cushions of Galo’s couch, sigh playing between his lips, body tensing though he remains oddly calm for someone that’s just been propositioned.

Meis eyes him through a cloud of heavy bangs, clearly at odds with how he should respond. Goes back to weaving his fingers through Lio’s hair, nails scratching against the smaller man’s scalp, massaging gently. Let’s a drawn out sigh linger between them before biting back the slew of curse words he’d much rather be saying given the situation. “Is this about Galo?” He phrases his thoughts carefully, noting how the other stiffens, face heating a pleasant shade of peach. _Bingo._ His fingers linger a bit too long in one particular spot, just below Lio’s ear, and he finds it hard to not smile despite the inner workings of his mind, as the ex-Mad Burnish leader leans into the touch, visibly warming, purring.

“Then, how did you know,” Lio pauses, moves so that his head can rest against Meis’s shoulder, draws in a breath against the other’s neck, holds it deep within his throat. His fingers flex against black denim, clawing softly until the ex-general can’t help but focus on him and him alone. “How did you know with Gueira?” His eyes are glowing that odd shade of lavender, the one that almost always forces the dark haired man’s mind to race. “How did you know you liked him, or that he liked you?”

“It’s hard to explain, really.” And it is hard to explain, Meis isn’t really lying with his responds. They never had time for “the talk” as some would call it—never had the right moment to merely sit down and gush about emotions, feelings, the makings of such that would send normal individuals over the edge and back in less than a second. They merely woke up one morning and became something other than friends. “I think, maybe, we always knew, though.” Meis picks his words much like his battles, mulling over each letter, letting them linger against his tongue, dropping only what he deems necessary to keep Lio happy.

“And you? You’re thinking you might”, he makes a show of untangling his fingers from Lio’s hair, hands moving about frantically, “with that idiot?” He can tell he’s hit a sore spot from the way Lio puffs his cheeks, lips curling in thought. “You’ve been around him a lot, lately,” Meis falls silent, eyes the younger man once more, drags black painted nails down the expanse of a slender neck, and revels in the way Lio scoots ever closer, seeking out what little warmth he has to give. “Keep acting like this and I might, kiss you that is.”

He means it as a joke, though he’s quick to pick up on the subtle hitch of breath, the way slender fingers make their way up to curl into his hair, tugging slightly—the way Lio’s face continues to flush, heat reaching the edges of his ears. “Boss?”

“Meis,” Lio whispers his name between semi-chapped lips, “you’re warm.”

And for the first time in years, Meis notices just how small, and oddly fragile, Lio Fotia really is.

“Boss, I . . .”

“How’d you manage to drop the friggin keys?” There’s a commotion by the front door, chilled breeze blowing in, the sound of shoes shuffling and bags dropping before a mess of red hair followed by blue can be seen from beyond the living room couch.

“We’re home!” Galo’s voice, loud as ever, makes its way to where the two remain snuggled against plush cushions, Meis’s arms wrapped tight about Lio’s waist, greenish blonde hair draped across a slender shoulder, mingling alongside inky blue-black hues. Neither looks up from where they sit, rather they appear to curl tighter against the other, murmuring just low enough so that their words are lost to anyone but themselves. 

“Oh, hey Meis.” Galo wiggles his fingers in a mock wave, eyebrows raising ever so slightly. “Are we interrupting something?” He leaves it at that, not wanting to pry further, before heading towards the tiny kitchen, bag of vegetables in hand.

“Hey, I put the waffles in the . . . .” Gueira trails off, pausing midway between the kitchen and living space, eyes the couch and lets his gaze linger a second too long on Meis who all but flinches, nearly shoving Lio to the edge of the couch before huddling at the other end, legs tucked up to his chin. “Meis?” 

Silence lingers, the ex-general picking himself up from the couch to hurry past the front door, stopping only to latch onto Gueira’s arm before tugging him out into the hall. 

“Boss needs some time, let’s go.”

Lio remains slouched against the backdrop of pillows, head resting against a particularly fuzzy one, finding the threads fascinating despite hating the damn thing with a burning passion. Chances to look up the moment the front door slams, Meis and Gueira having hurried out to hell knows where, leaving him alone—leaving him with Galo, the one person he’s been constantly thinking about for the last few hours (the last fucking month, to be exact), despite better judgement. Despite nearly having jumped his former general in hopes of figuring out just what it is that keeps his heart pounding when the blue haired man is in the room—he can’t, hasn’t, quite gotten to the bottom of that yet, either. Though he has an odd inkling that Meis knows, but won’t tell him. Has an inkling that he, himself, knows but just won’t admit it.

“ _Hey_.” Galo slides onto the couch beside Lio, keeps his gaze glued to the television even though the movie playing is one he’s seen a million times over. Instinctively, he wraps an arm about the smaller man’s shoulders, drawing him close until he can feel tendrils of greenish blonde hair tickling the side of his arm. Let’s Lio sink against him, curling into his warmth, drawing his knees up until they’re tucked under his chin. 

“Meis said you needed to talk to me.” Galo’s voice vibrates from deep within his chest, calm and caring yet oddly hesitant. “Well, he didn’t really say it so much as gave me that look,” the slightest hitch of laughter makes its way into his voice, jostling the smaller man within his grasp, forcing Lio to look up and take note of the burning blues that threaten to rip his very heart clear out of his chest.

“What’s _wrong_ , Lio?” And, just like that, Galo is back to somehow sounding serious despite his usual upbeat nature. “You can always tell me, ya know.” 

And, that’s the problem, really, if Lio were being honest with himself. He can tell Galo anything, everything, just not the one thing that’s been plaguing his mind. The one damned thing that’s keeping him from sleeping well at night, even though the two of them always gravitate towards the other despite the bed having more than enough room for two. 

_I really am being pathetic . . ._

The ex-Mad Burnish leader curls further into Galo’s side, let’s his breath catch somewhere deep within his throat, focuses on the scent of charcoal and vanilla that almost always surrounds the firefighter, and just . . . thinks. Waits.

“Lio?”

“If I asked you to kiss me, would you?” Lio let’s the words trickle from his mouth like rain, only realizing that he’s said them out loud when Galo’s eyes bulge, the firefighter all but freezing up the moment he sees Lio’s skin turning crimson. “I mean, never mind, forget you heard that.” He’s quick to detach himself from the other’s hold, slinking towards the edge of the couch, one leg making its way over the side until his foot touches carpet and he’s almost sprinting towards the door.

Galo’s hand upon his wrist forces him to remain.

“You mean to say, you think I wouldn’t?” And this has Lio stuttering into the palm of his hand, visibly holding back whatever it is he’s thinking—and Galo can only guess that the smaller man is fighting an inner battle as he falls back, heavy, against the cushions.

“You haven’t,” Lio pauses, steals a glance in Galo’s direction, lavender pink hues half lidded behind darkened eyelashes. He twists a bit until he’s facing the firefighter, twirls a few stray strands of lightened green around his middle finger, before continuing, “You haven’t tried to in over a month, Galo. Of course I’m starting to think you wouldn’t.”

And, just like that, everything the ex-Mad Burnish leader has been thinking about is suddenly flooding out into the open, wave after wave of a month’s long streak of self-doubt pooling up from deep inside his stomach, churning until he’s short of breath and his eyes sting against salted tears.

“You haven’t even once looked at me like I **_mean_ **something to you,” Lio takes a steadying gasp of air, moves himself so that his head falls against Galo’s chest, arms wrapping about a sturdy waist. He wants nothing more than to scream, to rage and whine and throw a tantrum, but he holds himself back, opting to bite his bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. 

How this one man could wreck him so far beyond belief, he’s hardly able to understand, and yet he has. He fucking has.

He hears the intake of breath long before he notices the pained expression ghosting across the bluenette’s face. 

“You really believe that?” Galo questions, voice raising an octave, eyes widening, hands coming to grasp at either side of the smaller man’s shoulders, shaking him slightly until he glances up, fresh tears streaking his delicate face. “I haven’t stopped looking at you for an entire month! I thought I was being obvious,” his eyebrows quirk at this, mouth slowly forming an “o” as Lio’s entire expression morphs, hardening until his eyes go dark, until he’s staring directly at Galo but not really seeing him.

“Maybe, I wasn’t obvious enough?” And Galo can’t help but wonder if all the little glances, every attempt at gaining the other’s attention—every chance he took to make the other laugh, smile radiating to the sun and back—might have been less romantic and more along the lines of something he’d do with his friends, his coworkers. “I wasn’t obvious enough, was I.” His heart does that weird little jumping thing it has a tendency of doing whenever in the ex-Mad Burnish’s presence, threatens to escape clear out of his chest at the way the smaller man’s lips tighten, expression becoming harder to read with each passing second. “Shit, I wasn’t.”

Lio can see the firefighter’s enthusiasm draining, watches intently as the larger man sags, defeated. Wants nothing more than to cup his cheeks and drown the bluenette with kisses—wants to, but doesn’t, aiming instead for letting out the puff of breath he’s been holding.

“Then, answer me this Galo Thymos, would you kiss me?” It’s the only thing Lio can manage to say, what with his mind working on overdrive and his eyes stinging with some of the worst tears he’s ever had the honor of crying. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, shoulders shaking, hands clenching against the fabric of his companion’s pants, tightening their hold until he’s almost positive Galo can feel him radiating an ungodly amount of warmth—and he doesn’t even have the Promare to thank for that. 

There’s a brief moment when Lio wonders if the bluenette might not kiss him, the tiniest of thoughts fluttering across his mind that—maybe—he’s jumping the gun, again, despite having clearly heard what Galo just admitted. He’s mentally preparing himself to leave, to turn away and hurry past the door, never to look back even though he lives with the man—has started building his entire existence around the firefighter’s outlandish world—when Galo’s arms slide down to his waist, tightening, fingers trailing gentle circles against the expanse of skin above his hip, hitching the smaller man’s shirt up ever so slightly for better access.

And, oh, if Lio’s chest doesn’t constrict right then and there, heartbeat quickening in anticipation.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are, Lio Fotia?” Galo is quite sure that he has on numerous occasions throughout the past month, however, he’s finding it harder to believe that the once feared Mad Burnish leader actually caught on. Or maybe he just doesn’t know how to flirt despite trying to convey his feelings between every toothy grin, every small touch and whispered moments they’ve shared while lounging in bed, together. 

“Have I told you just how much you mean to me,” Galo clears his throat, draws another pattern across the ex-Burnish’s hip, lets his mouth rest against the juncture of Lio’s neck and shoulder, places the smallest of kisses to pale skin. “Because, I’m pretty sure we were made for each other, in fact, I know we are.” 

Something inside of Lio snaps upon hearing the bluenette’s confession, snaps and pushes him forward until he’s bringing their foreheads together, his lips slotting against Galo’s, molding at just the right angle so that the larger man can open his mouth, welcoming him inside with the softest of bites upon his lower lip. 

And oh, Galo’s mouth is hot, dangerously so, tongue brushing against his own in little strokes, hands roaming up to rest against the small of his back. Lio whispers the softest of moans, takes pride in the way his companion makes to swallow each sound up with ever growing passion. Makes to pull him even closer until he’s practically straddling the bluenette’s hips, hands seeking purchase against the back of Galo’s neck, fingers toying with the stubble of his undercut.

And the thought strikes Lio that he could stay nestled against the firefighter’s large frame for days and not think twice about which part to cherish—which part to lavish with cheeky kisses and daring hands.

“You are beautiful, Lio Fotia.” Galo is the first to break away, pupils blown wide, breath labored and chest heaving, the faintest of blushes creeping its way straight up to his ears. “You are beautiful, and I would love to kiss you every second of the day, if it means keeping you by my side.” His usual enthusiasm shows through with each word, with each tiny peck he places to pale skin—each searing open mouthed kiss he manages to lavish the other’s neck with, stopping only to worry a bruise against his companion’s pulse point. And he takes great pleasure in the way Lio’s fingers tighten their hold against his neck, the way his hips rock forward creating just the right amount of friction that leaves him almost seeing stars.

There’s a sense of urgency in Lio’s every movement, in the way he guides him down against the couch cushions, leaning ever so slightly until he’s flush against the expanse of a broad chest, lips seeking out the bluenette’s once more in what the firefighter can only call desperation. Lio Fotia wants him, as much—if not more—than they can both express, and Galo silently vows to give the ex-Leader everything he has to offer and then some. 

It’s long past midnight when the front door opens, Meis and Gueira sneaking in to a darkened living room, television humming in the background, silent noise echoing throughout the apartment. The two make their way towards their shared bedroom, pausing only to take note of the way Lio lays sprawled against Galo’s side upon the couch, legs entwined and arms circling the expanse of the larger man’s back. Both appear to be sleeping, blankets having fallen to the floor, pillows barely underneath their heads save for a small body pillow that Lio has crushed against the side of the couch for leverage. The ex-Generals share a look, Meis’s lips quirking in a half smile, whispering into Gueira’s ear before tugging the red head towards their room, hands clasped and a sense of fulfillment blossoming within their chests.

Their once feared boss is on the way to recovery, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> I've only had the chance to see Promare once in theaters (though I've gladly eaten up every damn fic there is and then some), and can honestly say that my mind was blown, and continues to be, weeks after. Galo and Lio's relationship intrigues me beyond belief, and I really do hope that this fic was able to convey that.
> 
> come scream with me on tumblr @Dreua.


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